


At My Kitchen Sink

by american_heiress



Category: Twenty One Pilots, joshler - Fandom
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Cutting, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, be careful, this is a rough one folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 06:24:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9644294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/american_heiress/pseuds/american_heiress
Summary: It's all just too much, Tyler can't take it anymore. Thank god for friends like JoshEssentially, when I first heard Kitchen Sink years ago, this is what I envisioned. Feel free to listen to the song after reading this and tell me what you thinkThis is a dark one guys, tw for mentions of self harm and suicidal thoughts





	

“Oh fuck…fuck fuck fuck…” It was happening again. Quick, sharp breaths were all I could manage as I paced around the floor. I was alone, family out for the evening and I could feel a panic attack coming on. I’ve dealt with them by myself in the past, but they’ve never turned out okay when I’m alone. Something, usually me, came out broken at the other end.

All I did was try to write music when my train of thought derailed into the dark canyon of my mind that I did _not_  like to go. It was full of monsters and demons that I could not get rid of, but banish to the depths for a little while at least. Music has always been a form of escape and coping, but tonight, it was a trigger. I never wrote anything that I didn’t believe in, didn’t think was just another generic piece of bullshit that I’d be able to market. It was always from the heart, my soul if I had one, my brain – as fucked up and fragmented as it is.

Before writing, I had another outlet, but it had been so long. The nights would hold me captive and shout at me to hurt, cause pain, it’s better than nothing. In the mornings, my family would see the fresh lines and cast sympathetic looks my way. They didn’t know how to help – they always offered to listen but what fucking good did that do? They would say they knew what I was going through, but they don't know me. How am I to explain that I don’t want to hurt anymore, so I drag a blade through my skin to remedy that?

And now here I was, standing over my kitchen sink with a razor, contemplating my next move. Josh was going to be so mad with me. I’d met him a year ago, and since then, day by day, the fears would shrink, retreat back into the night. With Josh around, there was no room for darkness, only his light. Many people thought we were dating by how close we became almost immediately, but it didn’t bother me. Do Josh and I love each other? Without a doubt. He needed me almost as much as I needed him, and that was good enough for me. With him around, I felt almost whole. I didn’t need to prove myself to anyone. I knew he didn’t expect anything of me, he knew what I meant when I said I my brain was sick, because he felt that way too sometimes. Just two broken boys trying to make it through.

The only problem with this was that even though Josh didn’t think I needed to prove anything, I knew that _I_  did. What was the point? What is my purpose? In this great big world comprised of generations of people before, during, and after my time, who the fuck am I? What’s the _reason_  I’m here? I thought I had something with my music. I thought that if I could write something to help others like me, even if it just ends up being one other person, that I would be okay. I could accept my existence.

My labored breathing turned to sniffles and wiping tears as I made up my mind. I didn’t want this anymore. I didn’t want this bleak, miserable life. Approaching the sink, I leaned my wrists over it, knowing that in the end, I’d just collapse and make a mess anyways, but I figured I’d be at least a little courteous to my family having to deal with the cleanup.

Right before I made my first cut, my pocket began to vibrate and I was torn. It was probably Josh, he usually called me every night. Did I let it ring or hear his voice one last time? Ultimately, I couldn’t leave without talking to my best friend just once more. Setting the blade down, I picked up my phone at the last second, but failing to say any words. It was Josh who spoke first.

“Ty? Hello?”

I sniffed once, trying to make my voice sound even. I, of course, let myself down with a crack in saying his name, fresh tears springing forth. “Josh?”

His tone was much more urgent than confused, “Tyler? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” I could picture him lying in bed, shooting up at hearing my shattered answer.

Why lie? “No, I’m not.” I always hated it when I would try crying and talking. But I had no choice. Whatever false composure I had was thrown out the window. I could never lie to Josh.

“Where are you? You’re not…” He paused, and I knew what he was afraid to ask, “you’re not hurting yourself again, are you?” There was some shuffling on the other end but I ignored it. In fact, I ignored Josh’s question. I didn’t want to tell him that I wasn’t planning on hurting myself, I was planning on killing myself. My silence fueled his fears. “Tyler-” His voice stern now, demanding an answer. “Where are you? I’m on my way.”

That caught my attention, he didn’t need to see this. “No, Josh, don’t come here, please. I just – I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Please Tyler, please don’t do anything, I’m coming, okay? Just wait for me.” Now I understood the reason for the noise on the other end. He was probably running around his room and then out the door, on his way here. That thought alone made me feel both at ease, and a surge of dread. I was so sure of my choice just a moment ago, and now I was divided. A small part of me wanted to stay alive, to stay alive another day and keep trying. But at what cost? How many times have I had this pep talk with myself and how many more can I stand?

The anxiety was creeping back in and just to hold it off, I reached for the razor and made a small cut, then another, my breath hissing through my teeth.

Josh must have heard and it didn’t take much detective work to realize what I’d done. “Tyler, Tyler please, stop. I’m almost there.” He sounded winded, as if he was sprinting. He didn’t live that far, I bet that’s what he was doing. The blood trickled down my forearm and into the crease of my elbow. It was morbid, sure, but when your brain makes the world all kinds of black and gray, crimson sure is beautiful.

I set my phone down in favor of switching hands to cut the other wrist. I could still faintly hear Josh reassuring me, but when he still didn’t get a response, I could see that he hung up. It’s better that way. Turning so my back was to the counter, I slid down so I was seated, head leaned back against the cupboard. I felt no fight left, not until I heard shouting outside in my backyard. It was Josh, presumably hopped the back fence and was now approaching the back door that led into the kitchen. From my angle, I couldn’t see Josh at the door, but I heard the pounding. Ironic how the help I needed pleaded for me to let them in, just like the demons and shadows who caused all of this.

The moment grew so intense that my body was starting to freak out all its own. I suppose it was about time for it to catch up to my mind’s racing speed. My hands started shaking and my head started flailing and my lungs started tightening and my throat started to close and my shouts were ear splitting.

“Go away, Josh! Go away. Leave me alone! Leave me alone…leave me alone.” In my frenzy, blood from my forearm splattered against the tile and cabinets, and my voice cracking with every other word.

“No Tyler.” Bam. “I’m not leaving!” Bam. “I’m coming in.” It went quiet for not even a moment before the back door was kicked open and a sweaty, out of breath Josh came barreling in, eyes wildly scanning looking for me. His ragged breathing stopped when we locked eyes, only to falter when he saw what I had done. “Oh, Tyler…” He started to move slowly and carefully towards me, as if I had a gun to my head, which I supposed in a metaphorical sense, I did.

I was so ashamed of what I had done and what I wanted to do. I had been doing so well, even Josh had said so. The last tracks on my arms were months old and had faded so nicely. I looked down to see the mess I’d made and sobs began to wrack my body. Josh’s steps lengthened until he was upon me, throwing the blade I wasn't even aware I was still gripping far behind him and then kneeling to wrap me in his arms. For a brief moment, I’d realized I must’ve been getting my blood all over him and grew embarrassed, but then I realized this isn’t the first time he’s had to help me through something like this. I can’t scare him off that easy.

My panic stayed far too high as I wept into Josh’s shoulder. It was like I could feel multiple hands inside my rib cage, reaching up to constrict my throat closed, digging their nails into my heart and lungs – all the while pulling me down into the nothing. My own body would rip me to pieces if only to squeeze me through the cracks into Hades where it presumed I belonged.

Josh remained rocking me back and forth, telling me it was going to be alright – we could fix this. He tried everything, brushing my hair back, rubbing my back, kissing my forehead, everything. In the end, the most important thing is that he was here. If all he ever did was share the moment with me, let me know that he’d go through it with me, then I’d be okay.

Eventually the tears dried, the wailing stopped, the cuts clotted, and peace began to invade the space. It was like an IV drip of serenity flowing through my body, slowly but surely making its way through my veins. Josh was still holding me, the pair of us slumped to the floor at my kitchen sink.

“Don’t leave me alone.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was a rough but therapeutic fic to write? 
> 
> stay alive frens |-/


End file.
